


Vanguards

by Mal-3 (The_Fenspace_Collective)



Series: Candle In The Dark: A Peculiar Saga of the Sea of Time [15]
Category: BattleTech: MechWarrior, Fenspace
Genre: Gen, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 17:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5751763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fenspace_Collective/pseuds/Mal-3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The notion of Contact between the Gernsback Expanse and the Inner Sphere as a single moment in time is very pervasive in modern historical accounts. However, it is better to examine the event as a continuum of smaller moments and exchanges leading up to the normalization of political and economic ties in the mid-3020s...</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vanguards

> “ _When multiple cultures collide like this, even the slightest actions can have unintended repercussions that can rapidly get out of control.”_ ~ Capt. James T. Kirk,  Star Trek / Planet of the Apes: The Primate Directive (2015)

~***~

_Excerpt from “ The Tellurian Exchange” by Meryl Campbell (Gondor Free University Press, Arda, 3119):_

“The notion of Contact between the Gernsback Expanse and the Inner Sphere as a single moment in time is very pervasive in modern historical accounts. However, it is better to examine the event as a continuum of smaller moments and exchanges leading up to the normalization of political and economic ties in the mid-3020s.

Contact between the two groups was, of course, inevitable. The immediate post-Event trend towards isolationism was in the final analysis impossible to achieve. The Gernsback Expanse was too close to the Inner Sphere to reliably hide in the deeper periphery, the Event’s sphere of influence too large to be properly patrolled much less adequately defended and the ubiquity of subspace-drive spacecraft meant that Tellurian governments would spend more time trying to corral their own people than watching for intruders.

The Jarnfolk encounter at Gallifrey on the heels of the invasion of Tellus closed to the issue for good. Jarnfolk maps showed a number of trade routes touching the edge of the Expanse, some intersecting it directly. While periphery trade at the time was at best minimal, restricted to the Jarnfolk, the Hanseatic League and a handful of ‘independents,’ the known routes meant that sooner or later, someone would come calling. Tellurian space couldn’t be sealed off without a near-unimaginable increase in military force: not just all habitable systems within the Event boundary but _all_ stars useable by standard jump drives would need standing garrisons to prevent people from blundering into the Expanse’s secrets.

The prospect of turning upwards of four hundred separate stars—the vast majority of which couldn’t support colonies to begin with—into a fortress was never going to win support from the people. Isolationism was a popular meme, but ‘isolationism’ isn’t the same thing as ‘paranoid fortress.’ The _idea_ of contact with the Inner Sphere was just as popular, even after the invasion. A plurality of people polled after Titanicon desired peaceful connections with the strange new universe they’d been thrust into. Tellurian governments understood this, even though many ended up acquiescing with poor grace, agreeing to the _Twoflower_ mission as well as other diplomatic ventures aimed at integrating the Expanse into the Inner Sphere.

However, it is important to note that contact with the Inner Sphere didn’t begin with the _Twoflower_ , or even with the invasion of Antallos. Handwavium and handwavium-based technology had been circulating within the Inner Sphere since 3020—all the major nations had research programs operating well before XCOM arrived in Antallos orbit—sparking the period of intense economic and social change historian Sun-Tzu Liao called the Accelerando. Fen advance scouts operated in the Inner Sphere not long after the invasion concluded, and independent traders traveled with the Jarnfolk almost immediately after that encounter had sorted itself out. Several major Fen corporations announced their intention to begin trading with the Inner Sphere directly, as soon as it was possible...”

~***~

 **CHOAM Boardroom, Kandor City, Luna**  
**3 March 3021**

Padraig O’Neil stood rigidly at attention in front of the CHOAM board of directors. This assembly of very rich people from all over the system rarely met in person, preferring their CEO to do the dirty work and reap the rewards. Unfortunately for O’Neil, last winter’s unpleasantness had brought certain issues to light.

“You know,” one of the board elders said conversationally, “we’ve had a few _very_ interesting conversations about your actions recently.”

“I’m sure you have, Phil,” Padraig said as calmly as he could. He could sense where this was going.

“Cards on the table, Padraig. The public doesn’t know what happened between you and that pirate from the Sphere, but SMOFcon _does_ and they aren’t happy.” _Tell me something I don’t already know, you poxy old horse._ “We’ve had assurances that no charges will be filed, but CHOAM is in a very bad position thanks to your cack-handed efforts. If we were publicly traded our stock would be in the _toilet_ right now, Padraig. I think the Board would like to hear what you have to say for yourself.”

Padraig took a moment to compose his thoughts. The first impulse was to tell the board where to shove it, but that was obviously the wrong move. He’d built CHOAM up from nothing over almost twenty years, and now this group of old men thought they could take it away from him. “First of all, gentlemen,” he said with his best we’re-all-friends-here smile, “I think it’s important to understand that we’ve learned lessons from this. Minamoto and Benson weren’t the best trade partners, true, but with the cat completely out of the bag we should put past errors in judgement behind us and look confidently into the future.”

The board looked at Padraig like he’d grown a second head. “Do you mean to say you want to _continue_ with this mad plan of yours, Padraig?” the eldest asked incredulously. “The last time you tried we almost lost Earth.”

“Mistakes were made,” Padraig admitted. “Trusting the first Spheroid to stumble across us was always going to be a gamble. However, the plan itself is still sound. Consider, gentlemen: there’s an increasing interest in and demand for Spheroid goods. Trade is going to happen. Right now we have a unique opportunity to get in on the ground floor and become _the_ premiere trading company between here and the Inner Sphere.”

“And what keeps our competition from doing the same thing?” another board member asked. “Especially since they’re in better favor with the Convention and the UN.”

“Stellvia won’t do it,” Padraig dismissed the notion. “Scott is too invested in colonizing that iceball around Zeta Tucanae to make the capital investment. He’s only in the lead because of his political contacts, and Stellvia is going to turtle up for the foreseeable. As for the others, we have a window before Greenwood or JMC or Starfleet Merchant Marine step in and reap our rewards.”

“Assume that, hypothetically, we go along with this,” the elder said slowly. “I’m not saying we do, but let’s just pretend for the moment. How do we do it?”

O’Neil’s smile widened. He knew they’d been hooked, even if they didn’t. “That part’s simple enough,” he said. “The new stutterwarp drive on the open source servers is easy enough for us to retrofit onto existing freighters. So we start by mass-producing stutterwarps and selling them. The major markets there are going to be earthside, especially with China and India ramping up their colonization projects. What we keep for internal use goes on our freighters, as I said. Now, the maximum jump range is limited but our experts say it’s roughly competitive with standard KF jump engines. If we started today we could have ships in the Inner Sphere within six months.

“I propose that we stick to the fringe worlds, especially the poorer Combine worlds, trading our line of starter-colony gear. It’s nothing exciting but research suggests it’ll go over well with the poorer planets. We’ll trade for luxury goods, or at least things that we’d consider luxuries here: exotic food, art and music. We use this trade to build up a line of credit with the Combine, something which we can build up, convert to C-Bills and then use that to expand further into the Inner Sphere.”

Padraig clapped his hands. “Gentlemen of CHOAM, this company was founded on the idea that _trade_ forms better and stronger bonds between people. We have a vast untapped market sitting not two hundred light-years away from our border. We can follow the competition and concern ourselves with internal affairs, remaining perpetually in second place. _Or._ We can take the risk, move out into the greater galaxy and take our rightful place as the leading trade corporation in Fenspace. Which will it be?”

~***~

_Excerpt from “ The Tellurian Exchange” by Meryl Campbell (Gondor Free University Press, Arda, 3119):_

“In order to ensure as many Fen as possible survived their adventures on the Inner Sphere’s fringe, Fenspace leaders advised that adventurers capitalize on their potential mystique to the fullest possible extent. Formal advance scouts like the Catgirl Industries party were urged to be as obviously obscure about their origins as possible. Likewise, independent adventurers were counseled to not only be mysterious, but as blatantly and deliberately mysterious as possible. The goal was to build an image of the Fen as a collective of technologically-inclined mystics, something that the average pre-Event Tellurian would say wasn’t far from the actual truth.

The term ‘technomage,’ originally Fiver slang for an handwavium engineer, became the new watchword for the brotherhood of adventurers who strayed outside the Gernsback Expanse in the early 3020s. Technomages appeared in a broad arc between the Coal Sack and the Dark Nebula along the Draconis-Lyran border, trading small wonders for gossip and the occasional small cargo...”

~***~

 **Athena Magna Spaceport, Icar, Lyran Commonwealth**  
**2 April 3023**

Winston Rowe took a deep breath and adjusted his lapels for the tenth time. He was an “independent operator” in the Duke of Summer’s employ, and his job took him all over the Lyran Commonwealth and sometimes beyond meeting with all sort of unsavory characters. One of the keys to surviving a career like that was to maintain as cool and professional demeanor as possible, and Winston’s fiddling betrayed an inner nervousness, which set off a brief spike of frustration and self-irritation which then fed back into his nervousness and Winston tugged at his lapel for the eleventh time. The professional side of Winston allowed this small gesture of humanity for one simple reason: for the first time in some years he was treading out of the usual routine of pirates, mercenaries and spies and into older, deeper and darker waters.

It wasn’t every day that a man got to meet a genuine wizard, after all.

The rumors had filtered down to Skye: strange ships unlike anything seen in the Inner Sphere before, crewed by people in monk-like robes who called themselves “technomages.” These technomages would trade trinkets that sometimes defied all known laws of physics for resupply and the occasional bit of news from inside the galaxy. Duke Aldo had heard these rumors and more besides—especially the ones where the technomages would give certain people predictions and sound advice—and so he sent Winston coreward, to find a technomage and ask for a fortune.

Now here Winston stood outside the slip where the technomage’s ship, named _Centrifugal_ _Allium_ for some reason, waiting to meet the inhabitants.

~**~

There were two of them, a man and a woman. The man towered behind the woman in jet-black robes, while the woman in forest green robes sat Combine-style in front of a low table. Both had their hoods up, and in the candlelight Winston couldn’t see their faces. He gingerly knelt at the table opposite the woman and waited for the proceedings to begin.

“Mister Rowe, welcome,” the technomage said softly. Her voice had a slight accent to it that Winston placed as Swedenese. “No harm will come to you here.”

“I’m grateful you took the time to see me,” he replied. “My patron asked me to come here from Summer to speak with you.”

“Oh? And what would the great Aldo Lestrade want with my humble ship?” The technomage’s voice never shifted inflection, but Winston had the sense that she found that amusing.

“ _My patron_ ,” he stressed, “would like to offer you service in his court. You would have access to everything Summer can offer, as well as connections elsewhere within the Commonwealth.”

“I see,” the technomage’s companion stiffened a little, but her voice remained neutral. “And what would your patron have me do to earn this?”

“He’d like you to advise him,” Winston replied. “We’ve heard the stories, even deep in the Isle of Skye as we are, and the Du—my patron believes that your wisdom would be invaluable in furthering his causes.”

For a long moment, the technomage was silent, face invisible behind her cowl. Her companion had relaxed a little, but still looked at Winston rather like he wanted to stuff the agent though the nearest porthole, feet first.

“No,” the technomage finally said.

“No?” Winston echoed, upset. “That’s it?”

“We are free children of the stars, Winston Rowe,” the technomage said. “We do not serve the interests of warlords and nobles. We will not be bound by Aldo Lestrade... nor Katrina Steiner, nor Takeshi Kurita nor the ghost of Alexander Kerensky for that matter. We will not go to Summer and perform tricks for the duke’s court. However,” she added, “as you have come a long way with this offer, I will give you a foretelling that you may take to your master.”

The shadows in the meeting chamber deepened, and Winston could see tiny pools of green light appear within the darkness hiding the technomage’s face. “Aldo Lestrade will achieve much, but it will never be enough.” The technomage intoned in a deep, guttural voice that sent spikes of ice down Winston’s spine. “Summer shall see Winter and Winter shall greet Summer, but the winds will blow him over. Accursed is the kinslayer, and in the end it will be blood which redeems blood. Remember this, Winston Rowe, and tell your master what I have said. He will do with it as he wills, no more and no less. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Winston said weakly.

“Then go. This audience is over.” The technomage and her companion turned and left the chamber without further words, and Winston scrambled for the exit hatch.

~**~

In the suit locker inside the ship, Miku Hatsune pushed her cowl back for what felt like the first time in forever. “That was fun,” she noted. “So how’s our mark?”

“Running from the slip like his ass was on fire,” her partner Adam said happily from the security monitor. “I think you put the fear of God into him, babe.”

“That was kind of the plan,” she said. “Kind of wish it had actually been Lestrade, that might’ve been even more fun.”

“Yeah, I’m okay with skipping that,” Adam growled. “If it’d actually been Lestrade he’d have brought enough people to try and take us by force. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of being the dancing bear for other people’s amusement.”

“Oh,” Miku pouted. “And I _just_ bought that new tutu for you too.” Adam chuckled.

“Well,” he said, “I s’pose I could be persuaded...”

~***~

_Excerpt from “ The Tellurian Exchange” by Meryl Campbell (Gondor Free University Press, Arda, 3119):_

“The full record of unofficial contact between the Fen—as it was almost always the Fen who made the voyage before Antallos and _Twoflower—_ and the Inner Sphere is not known to us. It’s likely that hundreds of ships tried to make the journey but turned back or were lost shortly after they left the familiar stars of the Event zone. It’s even more likely that many of those who successfully made the trip then vanished into the Inner Sphere by choice, accident or enemy action.

Quite a large number of eccentrics went missing during this early period, particularly after the invention and distribution of the stutterwarp drive. Some are known to have left the edges of Fenspace for worlds less likely to be targeted by Spheroid adventurers, such as the famous Saint Brendan’s Refuge colony at Luhman 16. Others however are believed to have voyaged to the Inner Sphere on obscure missions of their own...”

~***~

 **Boulder City, Rockland, Draconis Combine**  
**10 September 3021**

When the time came to write the stories about how the whole sorry business went down, they’d say that it all began in a rundown bar in the absolute ass-end of nowhere on a nowhere planet.

Specifically, it started with the band. The “band” at the Mamiya Inn consisted of one person, a drifter who’d come in from offworld and somehow made her way from the spaceport to Boulder City carrying a bag and a guitar. In the bag, all her worldly possessions. The guitar, a cheap model made in Maverick. The drifter blew into town and immediately took to the Inn, looking for a place to stay and a job.

“There isn’t much work to be had here, miss,” the innkeeper said apologetically. “This part of Rockland isn’t exactly booming. Hasn’t been for a long time, either.”

“Ah,” the drifter said with a shrug. “That’s what I was looking for. You have to start somewhere, and this is as good a place to start as any.” The inkeeper’s eyes narrowed a little at that; she’d been around a while and for somebody to come into town to “start” anything was a good recipe for trouble.

“You’re looking to start something, miss?” she asked as innocently as she could.

“Oh yes,” the drifter replied. “I’m going to start a lot of things. Some of them aren’t going to work out, I think. But hell, we all get our dreams stamped on from time to time, right? And what kind of second-rate dreams are they if it doesn’t hurt when that happens?” The drifter shook her head. “So what kind of work is there in town? I can fight, I can dig and I can sing.”

The innkeeper gave her a considering look. “My inn could use some regular entertainment,” she said. “If you can sing and use that guitar properly, I will give you room and board.”

“Deal.” The drifter and the innkeeper shook on it. The inkeeper paused. “By the way,” she said. “I don’t think you ever gave me your name.”

“Didn’t I? That’s terribly rude of me, I’m so sorry.” The drifter’s eyes sparkled. “Quellcrist Falconer,” she said with a small, wry grin. “Call me Quell.”

~**~

Quellcrist Falconer spent six months in Boulder City, playing guitar, telling stories and being a somewhat disreputable pillar of the local community. She played at the Mamiya Inn every night, a selection of songs ranging from tweaked versions of popular stuff elsewhere in the Combine to ancient songs from old Terra. In between sets she’d drink beer or sake with the workingmen and tell absurd stories about kings and tricksters. One night a cadre of Azami arrived in town on business, and Quell spent most of the night regaling them with tales of the sage Nasreddin.

Then, one night Quell had an announcement to make. “Good evening, drunkards,” she said in a mellow, smoky voice. “You guys all know me, but what you don’t know is this is going to be my last set at the Mamiya Inn.” She held up a hand to forestall the chorus of protests from the regulars. “I know, I know, you enjoyed it. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t having fun too. But it’s time to face the facts: I need to move on, and you need to start singing on your own. So that’s what I’m gonna do. One last session and then I’m off. Don’t look for me, just keep on singing.” And with that she launched into her set, starting with a song none of them had heard before:

> “ _Blacksmith, make a sword for me, such as none did ever see,_  
>  _For ancient symbols of majesty have power in troubled times._  
>  _Blacksmith, make me a magic sword, one that will make me the valley’s lord_  
>  _Whom folk will hail with one accord to save them from their crimes...”_

~***~

_Excerpt from “ Zoalaster’s Annotated Guide to the Lost Worlds (3077 Edition)” (Starfleet BuNav, Alpheratz, 3077):_

“ **NEW DALLAS**

 **Star Type:** K8VI  
**System Position:** 2  
**Time to Jump Point:** 199 hours  
**Number of Satellites:** 2 (Pecos, Franklin)  
**Surface Gravity:** 0.86 G  
**Atmospheric Pressure:** Standard (Breathable)  
**Equatorial Temperature:** 37° C (Subtropical)  
**Surface Water:** 61.8%  
**Highest Native Life:** Mammal  
**Population:** 375,000,000 (3077 estimate)  
**Political:** Independent (Free Worlds League / Fenspace Convention joint protectorate)  
**USIIR Tech Level Rating:** D-D-C-D-C  
**Recharging Station:** n/a  
**HPG Class Type:** n/a

New Dallas was a former Terran Hegemony colony that received unwelcome attention from the Free Worlds League and the Lyran Commonwealth during the Fall and the First Succession War. The planet was a major industrial and agricultural center at the time, and as the successor states began carving up the Hegemony it became one of the more heavily fought-over worlds. No surviving records indicate that the combatants knew New Dallas had a copy of the Prometheus library database, but if they did it didn’t stop them from devastating the planet. Over the course of six years and four major engagements Steiner and Marik forces destroyed all orbital industry, New Dallas’s HPG transmitter, the major cities and scorched nearly 60% of the arable land on two continents.

By the end of major hostilities New Dallas’s effective worth had dropped to zero, and the fighting moved to other still-valuable systems. Assuming that the planet had been scoured of life Comstar removed it from maps shortly before the beginning of the Second Succession War. However, once the fighting had moved on New Dallas sprang back to life. The conflict had used relatively ‘clean’ fusion-based nuclear warheads, ensuring that the environmental damage was less than an outside observer might have expected. ‘Less damage’ remains a significant understatement, however: between the total destruction of urban areas, the loss of critical farmland and the nuclear autumn created by all this activity New Dallas suffered an extreme die-back on all levels. Out of a pre-Fall population of 3.4 billion less than 100 million survived to crawl out of the wreckage in the 2800s.

Civilization rebuilt itself at a roughly Steam Age level, with a handful of Star League relics continuing to prop up the system. As memories of the Hegemony faded new nations began to emerge around the places of refuge where survivors rode out the war and the collapse of the old order. Most of these nations were kingdoms of one kind or another, aping the old Hegemony quasi-feudal forms to the best of their ability. The most interesting of these was the kingdom of Colorado Mesa, a fortress nation established on an outcrop on the eastern coast of La Plata. By virtue of its near-unassailable position on top of a mesa large enough to hold not just a stronghold but also towns and farmland, Colorado Mesa managed to rule over a sizable chunk of the La Plata coast.

Due to the relative lack of technological resources, New Dallas’s resurrection remained unknown to the Inner Sphere for the next two centuries. The new nations spent that time building up their own status quo based around low-intensity warfare similar to the Westphalian balance of power: large nations would stage massed pitched battles against each other over strategic resources or specific territorial claims. The surviving Star League technology, treasures beyond all estimation, was kept as far from the battlefields as possible. The ruins of the old cities were sometimes scavenged, but more often than not they were left alone or placed under local taboo. This state of affairs might have continued in perpetuity if not for the arrival of outsiders in 3023...”

~***~

 **Colorado Mesa, New Dallas**  
**19 January 3023**

They almost missed it, at first.

The Royal Astronomical Watch was empowered by his majesty the king to keep their eyes on the sky for signs of starships. If the vanguards of the Camerons, or hated Amaris (may Jesus spit on his shade) or those responsible for the Burning were to return, then the Watch would bear the responsibility to inform the king so a proper reception could be made. All the kingdoms of New Dallas had a Watch, because to turn your back on the sky was to invite death. Cameron might have brought man to New Dallas from long-forgotten Terra through the sky, but the sky also brought Amaris and the Burning.

And so the Watch, all the Watches, kept their lonely vigil, using telescopes and the last sputtering remains of a pre-Burning space traffic control set. For long years there was little to nothing, faint sparks that might’ve been mighty ships using the system as a shortcut. Then the Watch saw a tiny dot of light where none had been before, and instead of vanishing in a flash it stayed.

The Watch dutifully reported this to the king, and the king in turn began preparations. Across the kingdom troops rallied to the capitol, merchants and peasants gossiped about the sudden turn of events even though Colorado Mesa was not at war this year. Inquiries to the royal court were met with general pleasantries. “His majesty is only taking precautions,” the heralds said. Precautions against what? “That will be addressed at the proper time.”

Three days after the Watch spotted the starship they noticed a smaller craft cut loose and begin traveling towards New Dallas. New information in hand, they went to the king. The king, in turn, went before his people.

“My loyal subjects,” announced the king to his court. “A thing which we have not seen since the Burning has occurred. Long ago, my ancestor King Joseph set forth the Watch, to seek out any sign that the starships of our forefathers were returning. We have seen starships come and go from our sun many times in the years since but now one has stayed, and it has detached a lander. Though we do not know if the Camerons still live in the depths of space, or if hated Amaris won their war, or if Steiner or Marik survive or anything of the fate of our cousins in the sky, it would seem that our time of exile is coming to an end.”

The people didn’t go mad with joy at this, nor did they go mad with fear. The citizens of Colorado Mesa reacted with general unease at the prospect of newcomers. Some rejoiced that they were going to return to the greater community of the galaxy, while others remembered the Burning and that the galaxy had gone mad with war-lust. The business of the kingdom naturally ground to a halt as the dropship grew nearer.

Four days after the king had addressed his people, the dropship landed.

~**~

The ship came down in farmland not far from the capitol. People drew around the ship, looking for signs that this ship came from something familiar, and were disappointed. The ship’s emblem wasn’t the Cameron star nor the nested rings of the Hegemony, but it wasn’t the feared shark of Amaris nor the sigils of Steiner or Marik. The emblem was a stylized eye looming over a horizon, something not even the most learned historians had ever seen before.

The ship’s hatches opened, and out came a troop of men in heavy pre-Burning body armor, faceless helmets and clutching incredibly valuable weapons in their hands. The soldiers marched silently out of the ship and formed ranks in front of the assembled people. The standoff held for a moment, then was broken as a man in ancient business attire muscled his way through the silent soldiers’ ranks and came to stand before the king and his bodyguards, inspecting them with a gimlet eye.

“My name is Fred Kovacs,” the man said with a bright, insincere smile. “I’ve come to teach you to be civilized!”


End file.
